


someday you'll find your love

by lailara



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lailara/pseuds/lailara
Summary: On their fourth day in the safehouse, Martin finds an old radio. He stumbles upon it while he’s cleaning the cabinets below the sink, dust and cobwebs clinging to it.OrMartin finds an old radio in the safehouse. It proceeds to play nothing but golden oldies, specifically love songs, as he cleans. Jon watches.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115





	someday you'll find your love

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the first fic i've published on this site, i'm sorry if anything is messed up! this is also the first full fic i've written in like..... 6 years. yikes.
> 
> but! 'for once in my life' came on at work and i could NOT get this out of my head. and then i read 'the house in the cerulean sea' (READ IT) and i fell in love with the way tj klune wove songs into the narrative. and also i'm gay and needed to write safehouse fic out of spite, so. here it is, nothing but sappy indulgent fluff! i hope you enjoy!
> 
> the title is from are we in love yet by moonbeau

On their fourth day in the safehouse, Martin finds an old radio. He stumbles upon it while he’s cleaning the cabinets below the sink, dust and cobwebs clinging to it. There’s no TV in the cabin, no internet access either. So far, they’ve been spending most of their time cleaning, reading, and cooking. Absurdly, it feels almost like a vacation.

The sight of the radio sitting on the counter beside the stove, clean as it _can_ be (old batteries laid out beside it, forgotten) is not a sight that inspires awe or affection or domesticity in Jon. What _does_ inspire those feelings, however, is seeing Martin bobbing his head to the music that its producing while scrubbing the counters with an old rag.

Jon leans against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, simply watching as Martin cleans. Most days, Jon is concerned that his gaze is something akin to Elias’s now, something awful and eviscerating and uncomfortable. But that concern could never tamper the pure longing that Jon feels to just _look_ at Martin, half of him afraid Martin will drift into fog at any moment and the other half given to some primal urge to just see. To trace the thick swell of Martin’s eyebrows into long lashes into the smattering of freckles on his cheeks and then down, into the dip of his cupids bow. Something about being able to see Martin like this, as relaxed as he could be given their circumstances and open in a way he didn’t know was possible, is almost too much for him to bear. But still he wants to drink his fill.

From the radio, Stevie Wonder’s slightly distorted voice sings ‘ _For once in my life, I won’t let sorrow hurt me, not like its hurt me before,_ ’ and Martin hums along. He’s scrubbing at what must be a particularly stubborn stain on the counter, but aside from the force of his efforts, he seems relaxed. He looks like he was always meant to be standing there in that kitchen, headband holding his dark curls out of his eyes, the first beads of sweat starting to appear on his forehead.

“ _For once I can say ‘this is mine, you can’t take it',’_ Martin sings as Stevie sings, so softly, his voice barely above a whisper. But still Jon can hear it. It causes something warm and fond to unfurl in his chest.

“ _Long as I know I have love, I can make it…_ ” Martin continues, but as soon as the last word comes out of his mouth he stops scrubbing and looks out the window above the sink. Jon can see the way Martin’s shoulders pull up, tension making his posture stiff. He doesn’t know what’s happened to cause Martin’s easy demeanor to disappear, but he doesn’t like it.

“Is there something outside?” Jon finally asks, once he realizes that this isn't Martin taking a quick break and is instead him staring transfixed out the window. His voice sounds too loud, even though he has to strain it to speak above the volume of the music.

Martin makes a startled sound and wheels around, rag still in hand. His eyes are wide, mouth open slightly in shock. Jon sees the glistening tracks where tears have fallen onto Martin's face and he pushes himself off the doorframe, fear gripping his heart.

“Why are you—“

“God, don’t _do_ that!” Martin interrupts. He places the hand with the rag against his chest, “You scared me half to death!”

Now that Martin has realized Jon is the reason for his terror, he seems to be almost embarrassed. He scrubs at his face with his free hand and turns to set the rag in the sink.

The radio is still on, still playing music. Frankie Valli croons out the words ‘ _The sight of you leaves me weak, there are no words left to speak_ ’ and Jon has the decency to be slightly embarrassed in turn by how on-the-nose the lyrics feel.

He’s made his way across the kitchen and has stopped to stand side-by-side with Martin. He cranes his neck to catch Martin’s gaze and Martin looks back at him sheepishly.

“You were crying.” Jon says, simply.

“Sorry,” Martin starts.

“Don’t apologize for that. What’s wrong?” Jon interrupts. He places his hand over Martin’s on the counter, squeezing. The fear hasn’t totally disappeared, images of Martin sobbing silently in the middle of the night so as not to wake Jon up appearing unbidden in his mind at the sight of Martin’s tears, leaving him trembling. But Martin shakes his head.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Martin says. He sighs, shifting on his feet so that he’s facing Jon. Their hands are still touching. Jon marvels.

“And that’s… that’s kinda the point? How… how did we even get here?” Martin’s not looking at Jon anymore, instead looking over Jon's shoulder, eyes unfocused. He’s ramping up for some sort of rant, Jon knows. He feels that warm spread of fondness in his chest again, crowding out the fear.

“I mean. Ever since I was little, I would hear songs like - like this!” Martin gestures at the radio. Jackie Wilson sings ‘ _That’s why your love, keeps on lifting me, higher and higher._ ’

“And I would get all these stupid fantasies in my head! A-about… this! About staying in a cabin with someone I loved, who loved me back! And yeah, I didn’t include ‘fear gods’ or the supernatural or whatever in those fantasies, but.” He’s looking at Jon now, a strange intensity in his eyes.

“I love you. And we’re here. Together. A year ago I didn’t think that would ever be possible.”

Jon would be lying if he said he wants to look away, but if he weren’t tied to an entity that needs to See and Know everything, he probably would at this point. His brain screams at him to pull back, to shut it down before he has the chance of ruining anything further. Martin isn’t incorrect in anything he’s saying, not at all. But… ‘ _no ‘but’s, Jonathan_ ’ he thinks, bitterly, and forces the insecurity away.

“We’re here, together.” Jon repeats, forcefully, not knowing if it’s coming out that way for Martin or himself or both, “’ _For once I have something I know won’t desert me, I’m not alone anymore’_ … and all that.”

Martin’s smiling his incredible smile, dimples visible on his cheeks. He looks like he might start crying again.

“Your singing voice is pretty good.” Martin says.

Jon shrugs, moving his hand away from Martin’s to cup the side of his face instead; his skin is warm and slightly damp from his tears, but soft.

“I get that a lot.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have tons of fans.” Martin laughs, nuzzling his cheek into Jon’s hand. A single tear spills from his eye onto Jon’s index finger, but that’s all.

“I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that I’m allowed to do this.” Jon says, and his tone brings a blush to Martin’s cheeks. Jon would have blinded himself in an instant if it meant he and Martin and everyone else could be safe forever, but he can’t shake the fact that he would miss this sight. He rubs his thumb along Martin’s cheek, delighting in the way that Martin’s eyelids droop just the slightest bit, delighting in the way Martin’s chest hitches, and thinks ‘ _I did that_ ’, thinks ‘ _this is something precious that I can try more than anything not to mess up_ ’. With his other hand, he presses his thumb lightly against the side of Martin’s neck, right on the pulse point, and feels it beating a hard rhythm.

“I love you too, you know.” He says, and Martin’s eyes close all the way at his admission. From the radio, Elvis Presley sings ‘ _When I first saw you, with your smile so tender, my heart was captured, my soul surrendered_.’ Jon leans in and presses a soft kiss against the side of Martin’s mouth, and then is overcome with a deep longing and decides to kiss along his face as well. He didn’t think it was possible for him to be able to act this gently anymore, and yet with Martin the idea of being anything but seems near unbearable.

Martin makes a small noise as Jon finds his way back towards his lips. He tilts his head so that they’re kissing for real, mouth to mouth. Martin lets out a soft puff of air as Jon nips at his top lip; Jon remembers the way his eyes had traced Martin’s cupid’s bow earlier and can’t keep himself from kissing it as well, for good measure.

Jon breaks away to look Martin in the eyes again. His arms go around Martin’s neck and Martin rests his hands on Jon’s hips. He feels as flushed as Martin looks.

“I know it’s not perfect. We have no idea what Elias… _Jonah_ might be up to, and what I’m capable of, and how this will all pan out and - but, well. Thank you. Everything might be horrible, and I might be an avatar of a fear entity capable of monstrous things, but I’m glad we’re here, now. That we have even this little bit of happiness.”

“I’m glad too, Jon.” Martin says. Then, after a pause: “I always knew you were a sap… even when you were a prick to me,” Martin laughs when Jon grimaces, rolling his eyes at himself.

“At least I’m able to make up for it now. I know I can’t go back in time. And I have apologized profusely at this point,” Jon says. They both know it’s only himself that he’s trying to convince, here. Martin had forgiven him his transgressions long ago. Jon’s arms go from around Martin’s neck to circle his waist as he pulls them into a soft, swaying dance.

“For now all I can do is make sure we make the most of this time we have, however suspiciously devoid of outright horrors and choking fear it may be.” Jon finishes. Martin has rested his head on Jon’s shoulder, their bodies close. He’s warm, warmer than he has been since they stepped out of that cold and desolate shore of the Lonely, even, and Jon is floored by how grateful he feels.

From the radio on the counter, The Flamingos sing ‘ _You are here and so am I, maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from view, and I only have eyes for you_ ,’ and Martin and Jon continue their dance, together.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm 'thenovelhound' on twitter and 'khliorah' on tumblr!
> 
> songs mentioned:
> 
> for once in my life by stevie wonder  
> can't take my eyes off you by frankie valli  
> (your love keeps lifting me) higher and higher by jackie wilson  
> it's now or never by elvis presley  
> i only have eyes for you by the flamingos


End file.
